Floating On A Distant Memory
by Bittersweet Harmony
Summary: Post Third-Impact. Memories begin to haunt Shinji's tired mind, and a spirit from his past just refuses to die.


Floating On A Distant Memory  
  
by Micah Kursch  
  
---------- Chapter 1.0 - The Photo ----------  
  
An ethereal light shone down upon the newly renovated streets of Tokyo-3, giving the deserted streets a somewhat melancholy demeanor, as their un- used and damaged pathways lie in the dank cold of the night. There was a slight breeze, their air running freely between the buildings. A small noise cut through the silence of the night, a sigh, which was partially over-dubbed by the sound of chirping cicadas.  
  
The light of a wristwatch shone on the side of the street, illuminating the face of a rather brash-looking young man.  
  
"Hmmm... Seven-thirty already..." His voice was barely above a harsh whisper, as he merely addressed himself in a somewhat slurred fashion.  
  
Given the poor lighting upon the man, his features were only vaguely highlighted. Stubble covered his jaw-line and under his chin, and his hair hung down to his shoulder, a dirty brown in color. A pale hand rose, to brush a stay lock of hair out of his eye, and then tuck it behind his ear; one could barely recognize this man as the legendary Third Child - Shinji Ikari.  
  
"Wouldn't hurt to have another drink, I suppose." He reached beside himself, picking up a brown paper bag, obviously containing a bottle of alcohol.  
  
Raised and cocked, the partially exposed tip to his lips; he turned the bottle onto a forty-five degree angle. The amber liquid ran down into his mouth, and over his throat, creating a burning - yet pleasant feeling. Already, he could feel his body slipping into a drunken euphoria.  
  
Suddenly, he stood and began to walk down the footpath, his footsteps not exactly in a straight line. His eyesight was beginning to blur, and he could feel his head becoming lighter.  
  
"Well, I think it's time to check into the inn now," he rubbed his head, with a sad smile, "and maybe they'll let me slide on those missing rent- payments."  
  
Turning corner after corner, he finally came to the cheesy-looking entrance of his current 'residence.' A neon sign sat atop two cobalt poles, reading 'Te Shdy Tre Inn' as some of the lights have blown, and the owner hasn't bothered to replace them. But, should the sign be read when the lighting is more abundant, it would read 'The Shady Tree Inn.'  
  
Stumbling forward, the bottle clutched in his hand, he made his way around back - careful to avoid the lobby. He stopped at a door, with the numbers '21' plastered across the front in silver numbers. Sliding the key into the lock, he pushed the door open and the familiar combination of mould and air- freshener greeted his senses. He took a step inside and closed the door behind himself, taking a moment to place his bottle on the bench top.  
  
The motel-room was very small, only about the size of a dormitory. It barely had enough room for a TV, bed, fridge and the tiny bathroom out back. The man kicked off his shoes and stumbled forward, falling face-first onto the musky mattress, which did very little to cushion his fall.  
  
His eyes wandered around the room, finally resting on a black, taslon case, which sat at the corner of the room.  
  
"My Cello..." he whispered to nobody, using his arms to push himself up off the bed.  
  
Reaching from his bed, since the room was that small, he could easily grasp the case and bring it over. He rested the rather large case flat on his bed and slowly unzipped it. His fingers trembled as the zip revealed more and more of the instrument, and he considered just putting it back and forgetting about it again. Countless nights had seen the same result, each time he tried to touch it, just once - for old times sake.  
  
Stopping himself, he shook his head; swiftly jerking the zip back up to it's original place and sealing the instrument up again. Running his hand along the case, he sighed, his fingers taking in the fine contours of the instrument through its taslon sheath. There was a pocket at the front of the case, where he kept his sheet music. Peeling the Velcro tab back, he reached into the pocket and pulled out a thick stack of paper.  
  
A small, but sad smile crossed his lips as his eyes ran over the titles of the songs that he used to love. He rested a finger at the tip of the stack and dragged it forward, causing the papers to flip, so that he could see all the different titles. But, as he did this, something small fell from the paper and bounced onto the cotton bed-sheets, resting facedown on the quilt.  
  
Shinji blinked and carefully placed the sheet music back into the pocket. His fingers ran over the smooth, plastic square and for some reason, his stomach felt weak. Pinching the corner between his thumb and forefinger, Shinji lifted the piece of plastic and turned it the other way around - but as he did so, he immediately wished that he'd never even picked up his Cello again.  
  
"...A-Asuka," he stammered, his entire body trembling now, "Asuka..."  
  
He fingers hesitantly ran along the flawless surface of the photo, it was perfectly preserved. His fingers traced around the outline of Asuka's face, with one of her rare smiles. Shinji had totally forgotten about this picture, or more accurately, he made himself forget.  
  
The picture itself was taken on when they were still The Children and the entire world rested upon their shoulders. In the photo, there was Asuka, sitting upon the railing atop the Mountain Shrine, where Shinji had always traveled to, when he wanted to think. The strange thing about this picture was that she was smiling. A rare smile, that went all the way to her eyes and showed Shinji that - as much as she hated it - Asuka was human too. This smile was of pure happiness; it was the kind of smile Shinji loved her for... even if he never told her.  
  
A crystalline tear ran down Shinji's rough cheek and left a warm trail of dew as it fell from his chin, onto the photo.  
  
"I miss you, Asuka..." He sniffed, hating how even now - when he was a full- grown man - he still sounded like an abandoned child.  
  
Carefully, he pushed the Cello onto the floor and rested it against the wall. He then placed the photo facedown on the bedside table and laid his head down on the pillow. Shinji brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them, trying to fight the wave of bottled-up emotions that threatened to overflow any minute. Rocking back and fourth on the bed seemed to calm him somewhat, until he finally slipped into a troubled sleep.  
  
A/N: Well... that was the Prelude/First Chapter of my most recent fanfic. I've decided to get back into EvaFiction again, since I kinda missed it. This chapter was pre-read by myself and that's it. If you want to be a pre- reader, I'd like that. Just drop me a line sometime and we'll talk.  
  
Any comments or feedback is welcome at, aim: darkzentrodity yahoo: blackwaterfrost Next Chapter: Past Memories 


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